Brokenness

I’m so saddened, so broken hearted, so speechless right now. A man is dead and another man’s life is effectively ended.

Late Saturday a young man I know. A young man who not only works for me but that I felt especially close to, killed another man. There is so much more to this event than I will ever know. I can’t even begin to find the words to try to understand why or how this could have happened, but it did. He pulled a weapon and shot a man. Now that man is dead.

What is even more tragic is that these men are all related by blood, of the same race and live in the same neighborhood. There is a depth of loss so profound in this particular community, this particular family, that it defies comprehension.

I am a man so on the outside of this. I tell these young men often that while I may understand on some level the prejudices, bigotry and economic hardships they live under better than the average “white guy”, I am sincere in my belief that I wouldn’t last five minutes in their world. I can only sympathize on many levels. Empathy is unobtainable for me in so many way for what they deal with, the manner in which they have been brought up and the thought processes that color so much of how they view the world and react to that same world.

This young man had so much promise. Twenty-two years old just this past Friday. We celebrated his birthday with cards and cake and a lot of good natured ribbing. He was hamming it up for the girls and enjoying being the center of attention. He had just been handed additional responsibilities in his job and was rising to the occasion beautifully. I could see such a great future for him.  With the crack of a pistol report, it’s gone. It’s all gone.

So much of the news these past few months has been about the inordinate amount of police misconduct in and amongst black communities. Ironically, even as a white man, I get profiled by local police because of the car I drive passing through particular neighborhoods in route to my own home in a suburban, middle class, neighborhood in a bedroom community of the capital city of Mississippi. The cry has been, “Black lives matter”, and most certainly, indeed they do. I spend the majority of my life with people of a different race than me. That doesn’t earn me any special favors or variances but does allow me to see first hand the struggles of others. I have dedicated myself to helping the men who work for me to see greater things for themselves and their families. I care about them because they work for me but more so, I care about their families. Their kids and wives or girlfriends. Their grandmothers or grandfathers, who are, many times, the only ones who have shown these men they are cared for to any level. I care what happens to them and seek to guide them, when allowed, into a life where God is central and the world is secondary.

So as I sit here and mourn the loss of this man’s life, present and future and the loss of his relatives earthly life, I am struck by the irony of this latest marching slogan. “Black lives matter”. They have always mattered. Not just when white cops shoot black men in the back or any of the other dozens of tragic events we’ve seen played out on the evening news all over the country. Black lives mattered for the decades of black on black crimes that have preceded our current reality fascination fix of racial inequality. Where was the black lives matter cry then. Where was it in this community, in it’s psyche last Saturday when two men, two relatives, two black men thought so little of each others lives that they tried to end each others lives to such a devastating and heart wrenching result.

Sadly, there is no easy answer or profound words to be spoken that will change the hearts of man. We are a broken people, living in a broken world and there but by the grace of God go I.

Brokenness, brokenness, brokenness. All is brokenness. I weep for you my friend. For a life squandered, a family broken, a hope unrealized. Brokenness, brokenness, brokenness. All is brokenness.

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